


You Didn't Run

by infiniterider



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniterider/pseuds/infiniterider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs time to decompress after a frightening encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Didn't Run

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after the resolution of "The Great Game" - after the beginning of "A Scandal in Belgravia".

"Come on, John."

Sherlock walked away, with the quick pace and distracted air he had when he was on a new mission.  I made every effort to stand, but the shock of Moriarty's second appearance had shot through the last of my nerves, and I could do no more than roll over onto my knees.  I heard quick footsteps returning, and I had the irrational thought that the lunatic was coming back for me.

"John!"  It was Sherlock's voice, of course.  "John!"  He was at my side a second later, his surprisingly strong arms helping me to my feet. 

"I'm... I'm alright now, Sherlock," I said shakily.

"I know you are," he said lightly.  "But you'll let me help you anyway, won't you?"

I glanced at his slender, serious face, and he smiled, though his eyes were filled with worry.  "Sure."

I leaned heavily against him and stumbled along beside him, until we'd gotten out of the gymnasium and onto a main road.  I began to feel a little better when we made it to the street without getting shot.  I was able to stand on my own again, though Sherlock still kept a hand on my arm.  He hailed a cab and we got in.

"Baker Street.  Two Twenty-one B," Sherlock said.  The driver nodded and started off.  "You alright, John?"

"Fine," I said.  Lied.  I was shaken to my very soul.  There was a man who could make Sherlock Holmes pace nervously about a room and practically stammer with agitation.  Sherlock Holmes, who could contemplate the death of an innocent hostage without the slightest sense of worry.  A man who kept decapitated heads in the fridge alongside the eggs and milk.  And the man who had shaken Sherlock Holmes to the core knew _me_ by name.

Dear God.

I could still remember the chill that had struck me when the hooded men had gripped my arms and dragged me off, their guns pointed at my head.  I could still feel the sinking in my gut when the silent men dragged me into the locker room, strapped the explosives to my chest, and hooked in the earpiece.  Then there was the tightness in my throat at the sound of the maniac's oddly timbered voice in my ear.  "Welcome to our little playing field, Johnny boy.  You know the rules, but I'll repeat them for you.  Speak _one word_ of your own and it's boom boom and _bye bye_."  The last in a high pitched sing-song that would have been ridiculous if I hadn't known so well exactly what the man was capable of.

"John."  I shuddered and turned toward Sherlock.  "You alright?"

"Yeah.  Of course."

His eyes glanced down at my hands.  They were trembling.  I clenched them tight and looked out the window of the cab.  I felt his hand on my shoulder for a brief moment, then it was gone. 

We were silent until we reached home.  Hm.  I hadn't thought of it that way before.  It had always been, "my rooms with Sherlock", or "the flat share."  Today, apparently, it was officially "home".  Sherlock helped me up the stairs and led me directly to my armchair.

"We'll have you sorted in no time, John."

I watched him move swiftly through the house, with the same nervous agitation he'd shown by the poolside.  He went into the bathroom and turned on water, then he was off to the kitchen, banging around looking for something or other.  After a moment, I heard him mutter, "Here it is."  Soon after he appeared beside me with a tumbler of dark brown liquid.

"Here," he said.  "This'll bring your color back."

I took hold of the glass, and the liquid sloshed around with the shaking of my hand.  Sherlock placed a hand on my arm, steadying the glass, and crouched beside me.  "John."  I looked into his eyes.  "He's done with us for now," he said slowly.  "He's found something that excites him more than we do.  We're safe tonight."

Slowly, I nodded, and my hand grew still as his words sunk in.  I believed him.  I trusted him.  "I'm okay," I said.

Sherlock squeezed my arm and got to his feet.  He disappeared into the bathroom again, and I drained the tumbler of brandy and water.  Sherlock came back to the room, looked at me and nodded.  "Better." 

I nodded, though it hadn't been a question.  He beckoned to me, and I stood up.  My legs didn't give way – a pleasant surprise.  Sherlock led me to the bathroom, where a steaming bath awaited me.  He pulled off my sweater, and I began to work at the buttons of my shirt.

"They'd have a _lot_ to say about this, wouldn't they?" he asked with a grin.  I laughed, and he pulled my shirt off for me.  Under his guidance, I took a seat on the covered toilet, and Sherlock knelt in front of me and pulled off my shoes and socks.  "I’ll leave you to finish the rest," he said.  "Call if you need me."

"Right."

He left, shutting the door behind him, and I finished undressing and lowered myself into the hot water.  It felt absolutely glorious, and I shut my eyes and actually began to relax.  I'm not sure how long I stayed there, but after a while, there was a quick tap on the door and then the door opened almost immediately.  I jumped, and Sherlock looked mildly apologetic.

"Hadn't heard any sound, thought I'd pop in and check."

"Well, I'm all right," I said with a laugh, folding my arms over myself and biting back the obvious statement that he could have called out to me if he'd been worried.  I smiled at him.  "But... thanks."

"Of course.  I..."  He looked toward the living room, then back at me.  "Um... wondered if you'd like me to get your back or... something."

"Um..." I felt myself blushing.  It was an odd request, I thought, but I also understood him.  I'd felt this way after Sherlock had rescued us from the Black Lotus.    I’d felt so incredibly horrible for having brought  Sarah into danger, that I'd apologized more times than I could count, in words and actions both.  "Sure, if you like."

He came into the room, shutting the door behind him.  His coat was gone, and he rolled up his shirtsleeves and knelt beside the tub.  Suddenly, the maniac's words came back to me - _people do get so sentimental about their pets_ - and the friendly gesture took on a different tone.    "Sherlock, you... you don’t think of me as a..."

Sherlock frowned at me.  "Of course not," he said quietly.

I lowered my eyes, ashamed that I'd asked – that I'd ever dignified that madman's words with even the slightest consideration.  "I'm s-"

"Hand me the soap, will you?"

I handed it to him, and he worked some into a lather on the sponge.   He gently pulled me forward, holding his left arm across my chest, and taking my shoulder in a light grip.  I felt the sponge against my back, moving in slow, firm circles.  After a moment, I reached up slowly and gripped his arm with both my hands.  He paused for a moment, and then his left hand tightened on my shoulder, and the slow circles started up again. 

"You didn't run," I said.

"What?"

"When I grabbed him.  You didn't run."  I paused, my hands reflexively tightening on his arm. 

"Hm.  I thought you might be annoyed about that," he said.  "Wasting that... very heroic... thing you did."

I shook my head.  "I'm glad you stayed," I said.  "Doesn’t make sense, but I... I'm glad you didn't leave me alone with him."

"I’d never have done that," he said.  He put the sponge down, then eased me back against the tub again.  He put a hand on my head, which felt more wonderful than it probably should have.  He stroked my head once, then stood up and walked away.  When he reached the door, he turned and winked at me.  "After all," he said.  "What _would_ I do without my blogger?"

Fin


End file.
